


Just a Little Deeper, Boy

by Duncecapdummy



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Hearing Voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duncecapdummy/pseuds/Duncecapdummy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know you want to go back,” the second said, whispering into Wade’s ear.  Wade tries to pull away, but he second grabs his arm, the steady voice washing over him.  The dripping gets louder, pounding against his skull with every breath he takes.  “Just imagine it, Wade.  Slipping back into that weightlessness.  Not a care on earth.  Who cares what fun you have?  It’s yours.  Take it, Wade.  Come back to us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Deeper, Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not writing Fan Fiction for a grade in Creative Writing... no! Who told you that?

He rounds the corner and they are there, holding out their hands and whispering in his ear, pushing him along the sidewalk, dragging him back downtown. Wade slides away with a quiet excuse and heads across the street instead. The first one follows and continues to point out that liquor store on the other side of the avenue, his sharp words are as unavoidable as the bright neon in the store window. Wade tucks his head down and endures it, staring at his feet as he walks away, watching the red and black design of his shoes blur together. When he gets across the street, the other two are already on the curb, ready with a new arsenal of lures. They goad him with clubs and alcohol and the promise of a good time, but he knows he’s already there, already been down that road, and he doesn’t want to go back. He turns his head up the street but they force his head back. It’s like they’re leading him in circles around the lower district.

“C’mon, Wade! Buddy! Pal!” the first says, “let’s just get back in there! We were having such a good time and you went and ruined it.” The man won’t let up, the words just spilling from his lips like water over a cliff. Wade can only just close his eyes, take a breath, and try to block out the noise. But the first one continues to pound him with his pleas, his voice quick and piercing, hitting Wade like a thousand tiny needles he just can’t dodge. “I just wanna have a good time and you just up and leave. C’mon! I’ll buy the drinks this time. Just one more round.” 

Somehow, Wade manages to shake the voice out of his head as he keeps trudging along. The words slow, no longer driving him back as he tries to head toward the upper district. If he could just make it to his apartment at the edge of the district, all these voices would go away. That’s what the doc said. She’d said the pills would help, that they’d keep the voices out. Wade prays they will with each swallow, but he hasn’t seen any results yet. 

The first voice quiets down as he rounds onto Bradshaw, his panic finally ebbing away as he heads up the hill toward 31st. Halfway up the block the second man slinks out of the shadows, emerging from the alleyway to follow on Wade’s heels. His voice comes soft, like the slow drip of a leaking pipe echoing off the brick; hushed but there all the same. 

“You know you want to go back,” the second said, whispering into Wade’s ear. The first one bounces up the street from behind them, catching up again. “Look at him, see how happy he is? What would you give to have that back? So care free and thoughtless.” Wade tries to pull away, but he second grabs his arm, the steady voice washing over him. The dripping gets louder, pounding against his skull with every breath he takes. “Just imagine it, Wade. Slipping back into that weightlessness. Not a care on earth. Who cares what fun you have? It’s yours. Take it, Wade. Come back to us.”

Wade wrenches his arm away and hurries back the way they came, trying to run. The bodies behind him pick up their pace, and Wade can hear them gaining. They’re right on his heels. Their footfalls start the rush of water, as if some dam broke behind him. The rush in his head is too loud, and he can’t see where he’s going. The river following him is powerful, acting against reason as it chases Wade up the hill. As he sprints away from the men, he slams into pedestrians, knocking over take-out boxes and getting is leg caught in someone’s bicycle spokes. His mind barely registers the angry yelling of the cyclist as he scrambles to his feet, taking off down a dark alley. Wade takes every turn he can, trying to lose the raging water behind him. But every turn he makes has those heavy footsteps, that crashing of a river behind him. It’s too much. His head is swimming, bombarded by the lights on the streets and the sounds echoing off every building. Panting, Wade bounds up the street toward the apartments on 31st.

He wonders how water can flow up the hill and follow him upstairs, but the curiosity leaves as he slams his door shut. His body lands against the wood with a loud thud. He inhales, gasping for breath as his lungs scream for air. They stopped, finally. No more voices, no more dripping. He continues to pant, sliding down to the floor. It’s over. They’re gone. The voices, the flood, everything is trapped behind the door. He’s home, he’s safe. Nothing can touch him when he’s safe.

Wade slowly sits up and lets his head fall back against the wood. He swallows his next breath, working himself up to getting up. As he stands he sees the pill bottle he threw at the wall in his frenzy last night, red and blue pellets dotting the floor all around. He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face, but when he touches his skin his palm is wet. Not with sweat though, it isn’t sticky enough. He takes another breath and opens his eyes to see water gushing from his fingertips. The old loveseat floats by just under the surface of the water, trailing ripples behind it that reflect the light from the window. Books and smaller things drift by him as the water level rises. He’s glued to the spot. Any attempt to save himself from drowning is useless. He can’t move away from his seat against the door as the water enters through his mouth and nose. Some part of his brain tells him this isn’t real. This can’t be real. But Wade can’t so much as cough as that soft dripping returns, pulling him under the surface. He blinks again, and that blur of red and black returns as he drifts down into the dark.


End file.
